


A Bug Has Been Reported

by Kisleth



Series: A Signal Bridges the Way From Me to You [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Kidfic, M/M, Sickfic, Toddlers, family fic, married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:58:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2493566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/pseuds/Kisleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phil does get home, he’s greeted by something he hadn’t been expecting (other than the clues given by picture messages of DayQuil, small mountains of tissues, and text that one says “<em>/whiiiiiiiiiine</em>”). Clint is passed out on the couch, his nose bright red and irritated from blowing it often. One of his hands is hanging off the edge and has dipped into the small waste bin that sat next to the edge. The other is on Ellie’s back, and she’s sitting up on Clint’s belly, watching the door where Phil stands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bug Has Been Reported

**Author's Note:**

> I'm jumping ahead here from Ellie being about 2-3 months to being around 14-16 months. I might go back and add some fic between the jump, but for now I'm just going to write whatever age I feel like. I'll try to mention how old she is in the notes as well as the fic so not to confuse you all.

Over the course of Phil’s brief trip overseas to a SHIELD base in Belgium, his phone had been flooded with texts. It had started out with Clint in a near-blind panic because their daughter had caught a cold. It was to be expected, of course; she had been born early and not under ideal circumstances. This is far from the first time she’d gotten ill. It is, however, the first time that Phil is several thousand miles away with at least half of the Avengers also out on their own business or missions.

They’d worked things out mostly through texts, calls tended to get dropped—literally—because Ellie (or Ellsbells as Clint often called her) would go running off as toddlers are wont to do. (Despite the fact that every doctor had said that it would be perfectly normal for her to be about three months behind due to being born nearly that early, she’s defied everyone and hit the milestones nearly on the head every time.) Phil would hear the phone thump into the carpet and sighed as their daughter shrieked because of course Clint chasing her was a game.

Sick or not, she has a frightening amount of energy, just in short bursts. Once it is gone she’ll be fussy and whiney and nothing could settle her for hours. Phil feels guilty leaving Clint all on his own to deal with this, he’s sure his husband isn’t getting much sleep. Unfortunately, there is nothing to be done but to get his work completed and hurry home on the earliest flight he can manage.

When Phil does get home, he’s greeted by something he hadn’t been expecting (other than the clues given by picture messages of DayQuil, small mountains of tissues, and text that one says “ _/whiiiiiiiiiine_ ”). Clint is passed out on the couch, his nose bright red and irritated from blowing it often. One of his hands is hanging off the edge and has dipped into the small waste bin that sat next to the edge. The other is on Ellie’s back, and she’s sitting up on Clint’s belly, watching the door where Phil stands.

Her nose is just barely pink and she looks very healthy compared to when he’d last seen her. She reaches up to Phil and waves her arms, making happy noises and repeating one syllable, “pa” over and over. She gets louder as he nears the couch, and he holds a finger to his lips and hushes her softly.

“Daddy’s sleeping, Ellie. Let’s let him sleep, okay?” He nods to her and she nods back, covering her mouth with pudgy hands and blowing a raspberry in her attempt to make a shushing noise. She giggles when Phil carefully scoops her up, humming. The lullaby is actually more for Clint than Ellie, a way to reassure him that he’s not some stranger taking their daughter away.

He walks away from the couch to their bedroom, grabbing a fuzzy blue blanket with galaxies on it (a present from Jane and Darcy) to wrap her in. He bundles her up with practiced ease and props her on his left hip so he can grab a blanket out of the closet to pull over Clint on the couch. Ellie is back to her repetitions of “pa” but makes them soft and whispery when they near Clint. Phil can’t hide his smile, so he doesn’t, and kisses the top of his little girl’s head.

Ellie squirms and turns toward Clint, waving her hands and making scrunchy kissy faces. Phil chuckles softly and kneels next to Clint so she can kiss his forehead. He wipes away some of the spit and takes note of Clint’s fever before laying his own kiss there. “C’mon, Ellie, let’s go make some soup for your Daddy.”

“Oop.” She agrees, her voice pitched as quiet as his. Phil grins as he stands and walks into the kitchen. They have such a bright little girl. She kicks her legs excitedly as they get to the kitchen. Phil hitches her higher for safety reasons because he doesn’t want to experience her little heels landing somewhere very unpleasant, and moves her high chair over near the counter, at a safe distance from the stove. He’s very glad they have induction stovetop so future wandering hands will be safer as long as she doesn’t touch the pot itself. So far, she has revealed herself as more of a hands-on learner, needing to touch and feel everything she can get her hands on—not something preferred when learning about how ovens are hot.

He gathers his materials and Ellie is happy to tell him about her day in the range of sounds and half-words she can make. (She her ‘no’ phase has come and gone, and yes is more of a squealed “es!” but it’s perfectly clear what she wants most of the time.) He responds in kind with interested hums and an “oh really?” when she gets very enthusiastic and pauses for him to say something.

Phil puts the last bits and bobs into the soup before he noticed Ellie’s sudden silence. It doesn’t last for long, though, because warm, blanketed arms wrap themselves around his middle. Clint presses his face in between Phil’s shoulderblades, hunches over and whines. He’s never taken being sick well.

“Your daughter did this to me, Phil.” His voice is raspy from sleep and coughing, but Phil simply half-turns in Clint’s arms and raises an eyebrow at him.

“ _My_ daughter? She’s as much mine as she is yours,” Phil retorts. He’s smiling and it quickly grows into a grin when Ellie shouts “es!” from behind them, slapping the table on her high chair with both hands. “Two against one, Clint.”

“Ugh,” Clint feigns hurt. “Betrayal in my own home!” Ellie giggles and Clint turns on her, stalking over and scooping her up, lightly tossing her in the air. He catches her—he always has, and being sick and feverish isn’t going to change that. “How could you, Ellsbells?” He lowers her just enough so he can blow a raspberry into her belly, making her shriek and squirm.

“Daddeeeeeeee.” She lightly slaps at the top of his head, trying to stop him. “Nooooooo.”

“Ellie,” Clint whines back. “Yesssssssss.”

“Noooooo.” Ellie shakes her head vigorously, but Clint continues to make squelchy raspberries into her belly. She tries to curl up and kick at him, but Clint is too quick for her to do much damage.

The timer on the oven goes off. “Alright, you two. Dinner’s ready.”

Clint sighs and lets Phil take Ellie from his arms. “See that, kiddo? Your Papa is the big hero today.” Phil shakes his head, but Clint nods.

Ellie looks from one of them to the other and starts nodding with Clint. She throws her arms wide like she’s seen Clint do when they read the book about elephants. “Eeroo.”

Phil’s smile grows soft, almost brittle, and Clint wraps them both up in the blanket with him. Clint tucks his fever flushed face into Phil’s neck and squeezes him. “You are.”

“I’m not, really.” Phil mumbles but Ellie slaps her hands to his chest and scowls up at him. He glances at Clint and knows where she gets that look from, because Clint’s doing it too.

“You are.”

“Es!”

Phil sighs and snuggles his little family a little closer. “Okay, I am.”

“Good.”

“Ood!”

They stand together in their overly-warm cocoon for a long while. It should have been a shorter while, seeing as the reason they part is because the soup has started to boil over. Phil laughs a little helplessly as he and Ellie look on, still wrapped in Clint’s blanket, as his husband handles the minor kitchen disaster and complains that he shouldn’t cook things with more than three ingredients unsupervised.

With a content sigh, something that had felt not quite right during the entire mission settles, shifts, and clicks into place inside Phil. He’s home.

 


End file.
